That Swedish Thing
by DracoDew17
Summary: Hermione wakes up in the hospital having no recollection of the previous five months. What happened to her and why can't she remember?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'm currently working on the next chapter of Eden, in case anybody was curious and going to mention it. This is a new short one from me which will consist of seven parts. Here's the first. Hope you enjoy reading it and will leave me a review. :)

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it.

**That Swedish Thing**

When Hermione woke on the morning of March fourteenth, she knew within five minutes of opening her eyes that she had lost total control of her life.

Stark white walls and blinding sunlight greeted her and though she still felt groggy, her brain latched onto her surroundings and immediately identified the room as one belonging in St. Mungo's Hospital. That deduction automatically led to questions of why she was in the hospital and how she came to be there, but her mind refused to supply the answers.

Glancing around in search of her wand, she took in the full scope of her predicament. Finding no wand or any clothes, Hermione was just about to pull the help cord when familiar voices floated in from the cracked doorway.

The only two phrases she could make out were "that Swedish thing" and "naïve do-gooder girls" in Harry's voice before her two best friends, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, turned the corner and entered her room. They instantly quieted once they saw her up and about, and before she could ask them anything to do with what they were discussing, they were upon her, all smiles and attentiveness.

"Hermione! We weren't sure when you'd wake up!"

"Yeah, Hermione! We were really worried! How are you feeling?"

Quite used to this sort of behavior from both boys, Hermione waved them off until they retreated from her personal space enough to her liking. Harry and Ron gazed at her with open, eager expressions of delight at having the female third of their trio back to complete the circle, but this apparent joy served only to fuel Hermione's perplexity to greater heights.

"I'm fine, but -" she started off haltingly.

A frown creased Harry's brow at her noticeable reluctance. "What? But what? What is it?" he practically demanded.

The former Head Girl felt a trickle of unease slide down her spine at his tone, and she wondered at its source. She'd never had a reason to fear Harry or Ron before. "I can't remember anything. What happened? Why am I in the hospital in the first place?"

Harry and Ron shared a dark look before the latter entered into the conversation. "What is the last thing you remember?"

Hermione worked her brain over furiously as she thought. "I remember being on my way home from work; it was the day we settled the Anderson claim and I owled Lavender to let her know I consented to being a bridesmaid in her wedding," she spoke slowly, trying to squeeze every last detail from the memory directly preceding her sighting of the hospital room. "I turned the corner and passed Wendy's Wares, that antique shop down the street from my flat, and was just about to climb the stairs to my door and then, nothing."

"Do you remember the date?" It seemed as if a fire had been lit behind Harry's emerald eyes as he asked the question, and Hermione once again mysteriously felt tendrils of anxiety creep over her.

Her eyes narrowed as she chewed his question over in her mind. "It was sometime in late October, not quite Halloween festivities time yet. The twentieth, if I'm not mistaken."

The mouth of each boy took a downward turn at her admission. Harry clasped her hand in his own, his skin hot to the touch, making beads of perspiration break out across the hairline at her temples, both from the heat and the way her two best friends were now surveying her through stony eyes.

"Hermione, it's mid-March now. You were missing for nearly five months."

Hermione felt all the blood drain from her face leaving her skin deathly white. "Missing?" she asked in a choked whisper, feeling tears begin to bubble up in the corners of her eyes. "For five months?"

Harry and Ron again shared a look and Hermione had the distinct feeling it was over how much they would tell her about her disappearance. An entire spectrum of feeling seemed to pass between them at that moment and she could only guess at what the outcome would be. When the redhead finally gave a nod, she knew some sort of agreement had been reached and they turned back to face her, the perfect picture of solemnity.

"You were kidnapped by a former Death Eater, Antonin Dolohov. I suppose he held a grudge against you for his capture after the Department of Mysteries battle and he came looking for you when he escaped from Azkaban, but that's over now. He's back in prison where he belongs and you're back with your friends and safe."

Harry seemed rather proud of himself after this explanation, but Hermione didn't notice. The only thing she was able to focus on was the dawning horror his words had brought on as tears fell freely down her cheeks.

"I was kidnapped? But how? What did he do to me? Why can't I remember anything?" Her voice softened with each question, eventually trailing off altogether as her mind scrambled to connect what Harry and Ron were telling her with reality.

Harry squeezed her hand where it lay forgotten in her lap, her eyes staring blankly forward. Ron crossed to the other side of the room and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry. You weren't harmed in any way." He and Harry shared another meaningful glance after that statement, but Hermione was too lost in her own shock to take much notice.

"The memory loss is probably just a side-effect of the potion he was using to keep you under control," Harry tried to add helpfully. "We don't know what he was ultimately planning to do with you, but that's not a problem anymore." Harry's voice lowered until it was nothing more than a fierce growl. "He can't hurt you ever again."

Hermione dumbly nodded to indicate she'd heard.

After a few more comforting words met with no response, Harry and Ron made their goodbyes promising to visit as often as they could until she was cleared for release. Hermione watched them leave with saddened eyes before turning over and crying herself to sleep.

----

A week later, St. Mungo's drew up her discharge papers and she was on her way home.

Harry and Ron had kept their promise to visit by dropping in on her nearly every day to see how she was doing. Once, in the middle of the week, the entire Weasley clan had paid her a bedside visit to check on her progress.

After the initial shock had worn off, she'd tried to inquire more about her kidnapping from her best friends, but Harry and Ron disclosed nothing else besides what she'd already been told. It was like trying to fight a brick wall and having nothing but split knuckles to show for it.

Having a hole in her memories didn't sit well with Hermione. It was a piece of her that was missing, and Harry and Ron didn't understand that she needed that piece back.

Maybe she was being paranoid.

Walking home from the hospital to her flat was strange not only because of the route, but because the world just seemed different now that she was missing five months. Normally, she'd walk home from the Ministry, where she held the job of Claims Inspector sorting through the complaints people had with the Ministry, and she'd be admiring the shops and people along the way, but all she could imagine were the things that lurked in the shadows now that one had gotten her.

Had she not been careful enough? Had the war taught her nothing?

Perhaps she was just as guilty as the rest of the wizarding world since the end of the war, becoming lax in her need to be on guard at every moment. Times of peace made one rather unaware of their security.

Wendy's Wares came into sight and a bolt of melancholy raced through her as she passed. Hermione had always liked the store, having found a mahogany end-table there earlier the past year, but it would forever be associated with the last memory she had before the hole.

The landing to her flat was just as she'd remembered except for one difference. The mailbox set out for her Muggle correspondence was overflowing with letters. Considering she still had a place to live, Hermione assumed she had Harry and Ron to thank for taking care of everything while she'd been missing.

Gathering up her mail in both arms, she ascended the stairs to her third floor flat while she fished the key out of her pockets, trying not to drop any letters in the process.

The flat was just as she'd left it. Every book, magazine, folder, and paper was where she remembered them being and a sigh escaped her at the sight. If she let herself believe it, she could pretend that she'd never been gone.

_Denial is not where you want to be right now, Hermione. Not really._

Deciding to listen to herself instead of letting her fear overtake her, Hermione moved around the room looking for any owls she might have received in her absence. Finding none, she concluded that Harry or Ron must have collected them to return to her at a later date.

Fatigue started settling in, having not been able to sleep very well in the hospital, and Hermione decided a nap was in order. She headed towards the bedroom at the back of the flat when a distinct popping noise from said room caused her to freeze. She heard it once more and then silence descended over the flat.

Hermione, her heart going double-time, crept up to the door quietly and swung it open abruptly hoping to startle anything or anyone that might have been snooping around her personal space. Her actions only uncovered an empty room, the wind lightly blowing in from the open window.

The former Head Girl let herself relax from the adrenaline rush and took several deep breaths before her heartbeat resembled somewhere close to normal. That's when she noticed it.

A small package, about the size of her fist, had been placed on top of her bed sheets.

Overcome with curiosity and not thinking of her safety, she moved towards it and lifted it from its resting place at the foot of the bed. It was plainly wrapped in brown paper, a red bow being its only embellishment. For some reason, the setup seemed oddly familiar, but she couldn't for the life of her say why.

Hermione, unable to hold off any longer, divested the package of its wrapping to reveal a black velvet jewelry box underneath with a ring inside.

The ring was beautiful, a princess-cut diamond solitaire with a platinum setting, but it was not in any way unique. No inscription or specially created band. Nothing to set it apart or make it extraordinary. It looked like a million other rings in jewelry stores around the world.

It was what came with it that was priceless.

Hermione touched the ring and _remembered_.

She remembered _**everything**_.

tbc...

A/N: The next part will be up soon. Don't forget to review. :P


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here we have the next installment of this story. Remember that italics indicate Hermione's memories. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Still don't own it, damnit!

**That Swedish Thing**

_The day was chilly. _

She remembered that now.

It had been a lingering summer and winter was trying to make up for lost time, becoming very cold, very soon. The wind was blowing the way it does when a brewing storm is on the horizon and Hermione was just trying to make it inside before she got soaked.

The landing was eerily quiet as she passed, the only sounds escaping through the open doorway were the echoes of the wind as it gathered strength. She paused for a short moment to find an empty mailbox before beginning the climb to her third floor walk-up.

Lightning struck outside and illuminated the corridor from the window, throwing shadows across the walls and floor and making a dark figure in the corner stand out. The figure, quite obviously a man given his height and stance, had apparently been waiting for her and was not expecting the storm to give him away as he charged towards her as soon as he was spotted.

Hermione didn't even have time to scream or pull her wand from its hiding spot in her coat pocket as she was grabbed round the waist and silenced with a gloved hand. Her captor murmured something under his breath which she couldn't make out and then she felt the familiar jerk from her navel indicating he'd just activated a Portkey. Not knowing what else to do, she held on tightly as the room began to blur and hoped the nausea accompanied with Portkey travel wouldn't get the best of her.

When the world stopped spinning, Hermione pulled out of her captor's grasp only to find herself being let go. The miscalculation coupled with her momentum sent her tumbling to the floor of their new destination.

It appeared to be an abandoned house of some sort, having dust and cobwebs caked over every visible surface. Shadows infused the room from where the large windows were covered with thick, black curtains pulled tight until only the slightest cracks of light peeked through. White sheets blanketed the sparse furniture decorating the space and the floor was littered with trash accumulated over the years.

The strange man let a low chuckle escape at her clumsiness and Hermione thought she heard something familiar within the sound, but it left her mind as she reached for her wand intending to show this person how she felt about being taken captive only to encounter an empty pocket.

"Not as quick on the uptake anymore, are you, Granger?"

Hermione paused, the voice passing over her like a river through reeds, bringing her back to a time when things were simpler. Though it had been years since she'd last seen him, four to be exact, his was a voice she would remember forever.

"Malfoy?" she asked in reply, breaking the silence between them since his demeaning comment as she rose to her feet.

"At your service," he remarked mockingly, his voice scratchy from disuse, as he lowered the hood obscuring his face and Hermione took the time to study him.

The years spent on the run had not been sympathetic to him. His blond hair, once immaculately kept, hung around his face in ragged layers, longer than she remembered it being. His face had hardened around the edges until his expression seemed to be tinged with a constant grimness, and his eyes, the gray Malfoys were known for, reflected nothing but emptiness, as if his soul had left him completely.

He had grown taller though, and more filled out, if the broadness of his shoulders was any indication. He was no longer the lanky sixteen-year-old she remembered, but then, neither was she.

"I suggest you let me go if you know what's good for you. I think you'll find I'm not very pleasant upon being kidnapped," she stated, trying not to let the deadness in his eyes unsettle her.

Malfoy's lips smirked the tiniest bit. "I'm afraid not, Granger. You see, I have your wand," he held up the sliver of wood in demonstration of his words, "and you're not very threatening without it."

Hermione watched wide-eyed in fear as he dangled the wand aimlessly in-between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. Then, without warning, his other hand shot up, and the piece of wood was in two halves.

"No!" she screamed with her hands reached out as if she could stop him by sheer force of will, but the damage was already done.

"I don't think we'll be needing this anymore," he commented indifferently as he tossed the remains of the wand off to the side, not paying any attention to where they fell.

Hermione could only watch through distorted vision with her eyes filling with tears as the very thing that personified her as a witch was casually thrown aside.

"I think you'll be more willing to listen now."

"Whatever it is, I won't do it," her voice strongly replied in contrast to the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I've placed a binding charm on you," he calmly explained, "so if you try to run, you won't get very far. This house is not only unplottable, but cannot be reached or left without the use of apparation or a Portkey, which you now cannot do."

"Why are you doing this?" she screamed at him, her face flushed with anger as she repressed the urge to scratch out his eyes.

Suddenly, a change came over him, and his face turned solemn. "I need your help."

Hermione, at first, didn't think she'd heard right, but when his statement penetrated her disbelief, a hysterical giggle blossomed from the back of her throat until the laughter completely overtook her. Malfoy stood and watched her mirth in astonishment, deciding the best idea would be to wait until she was finished.

"Of course you need my help! And what a way to ask! By kidnapping me and breaking my wand and **forcing** me to help you!" she got out between gasping breaths.

Malfoy, supremely irritated after this assessment of his methods, turned on his heel and crossed the room to the open doorway. "If you ever want to leave, you'll help," he called over his shoulder, the door banging closed behind him accompanied with a resounding click of the lock, shattering her view of the situation.

Hermione felt her heart drop to her feet. There was no way out, she had no food or water or any way to use the bathroom, and with no wand, no alternate escape route. Deciding, for once, to swallow her pride before it got the best of her, she ran across the room to the door before Malfoy got too far out of range and beat on the heavy wood.

"I'll help, okay? Whatever you want, I'll do my best," she shouted through the barrier.

Her reply was the door unlocking beneath her hands and she took a step back before it swung open. Malfoy slouched against the frame, a triumphant look on his face which made her scowl and cross her arms over her chest.

"I knew you'd see it my way."

Hermione refused to be goaded into an argument and instead got straight to the matter at hand. "What is it you need my help with?"

Malfoy indicated she should follow him into the next room and Hermione was surprised to find it the opposite of the one they had arrived in. It was clean, neat, and decorated with modest furniture. Lit candles on the mantel and a fire burning brightly in the fireplace gave the whole room a warm glow, which combated the winter chill spilling in from outside.

The blond took a seat in one of the armchairs next to the fire and directed her to the other before he began to speak.

"I know you're aware of the part I played in the late headmaster's death," he started with Hermione nodding. "I'll regret that for the rest of my life, but it's the only crime I've ever committed."

The former Head Girl couldn't contain her shock. "But what about -?"

"Yes, I know," Malfoy grimly shook his head as he cut her off. "The murders of the Macmillans and the Carmichaels, and the torture of the Creeveys. All accredited to me, but I was not the one who did them. In fact, the one thing I've done, as far as the war is concerned, I've been acquitted of, but everything else is being blamed on me. I need your help in clearing my name so I can stop running."

Hermione raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "And then you'll let me go?"

Malfoy tilted his head to the side, appearing to be offended by the veracity of his word being called into question. "Of course."

Aware that her options were limited, Hermione figured she could do her best in trying to help him, but didn't know how truthful his claims of innocence were. However, when he offered his hand, she took it, all the while feeling like she was selling her soul to the devil.

TBC…

A/N: I hope to have the next part up soon. Thank you to everyone who reviewed part one. Don't forget to review this, too! Reviews are love. :)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I know it's been awhile, but I'm really going to try to update more frequently. And yes, for Eden, too, which hasn't been updated in forever, but I am working on it. And just remember for this one, _italics _ Hermione's memories. Enjoy. :)

Disclaimer: They're not mine, I just play with them for fun.

**That Swedish Thing**

The commonplace ring slipped from her fingers and hit the floor only moments before Hermione followed its path, collapsing to the ground with her arms folded around her middle. Choked sobs poured from her throat in a ripped staccato between gasping breaths, the memories flowing through her too fast to stop. She rocked back and forth in some semblance of comfort though it was hollow, empty compared to what she really wanted.

The third-floor apartment, which had only minutes before brought her some peace of mind, was now a prison. The outer trappings of her perfect life, her perfect lie. She'd been fooling herself thinking of ways to move on, nothing could be the same after this. Hermione didn't want it to be, the old life had died on a November evening.

She already knew what had happened. Hermione didn't even have to ask the questions, she already had the answers, and the cost of it would shatter her.

_Hermione looked out the window at the darkening sky of November, a sure sign that a storm was on the way. She'd been Malfoy's 'guest' for nearly a month, in what she now knew was one of the forsaken pieces of Black property his mother had inherited, and though she'd rather die than admit it, she was rather comfortable with her surroundings; and after she'd agreed to be of help, Malfoy had stopped being quite so acerbic. _

He'd set her up with quite a nice room, one a bit larger than the one she occupied in her apartment. It was clean and neat with a simple vertical-striped pattern decorating the walls in pale shades of cream and blue. The furnishings were made from a light weathered oak and the bed was adorned with sheets in the truest blue she'd ever seen. An old-fashioned washstand stood in one corner of the room next to the door leading to the closet and another door to the left of it led to a tidy bathroom done in white. The 'piece de resistance', however, was on the far side of the room, framing the entire space was a large bay window and accompanying seat cushioned in the same blue as the bed. Hermione had a difficult time trying not to gasp when he'd showed her where she would be staying for the duration. Malfoy had explained that she wasn't to go anywhere in the house except this room, the kitchen, and the library. Having access to a centuries-old library was the only blessing Hermione could count in this venture, and she had constantly used its many shelves to keep her entertained.

Hermione was there now, waiting for Malfoy to come back as she watched the storm break in-between reading passages of the book she held in her hands. When he did this, she always worried if he would return and what mood he would be in, according to if he found anything of relevance. It was slow-going, but he was starting to build up his case of innocence by finding the correct files in the Ministry records.

She'd quickly discovered that it wasn't so much her help he sought desperately, but her clearance within the Ministry. Being a Claims Inspector had its perks, mainly because she cleaned up any possible public relations catastrophes, but none as great as the unlimited access. All he needed was her identification, a simple charmed key hanging unobtrusively around her neck and only she could remove it. Anyone who tried to take it and use it without her explicit permission would find themselves the target of endless security curses and probably wake up in Azkaban.

Hence, her being kidnapped and agreeing to help.

After she gave him her key along with her permission, albeit with some hesitance, Hermione had explained to him how the charm worked. The thing about the keys was that not a single person in the Ministry knew who had one and who didn't except for the people who possessed them. Only a few select members were chosen by the the building itself and allowed to have them. The use of the keys went unrecorded for fear of a threat to those persons and a security breach by the hand-picked few was inconceivable. How Malfoy came to know about her key was a mystery to Hermione since she hadn't even told Harry or Ron about it. Most Ministry workers thought the 'keys to the building' was just a myth.

Hermione remembered the day she received hers like it was yesterday. She'd been riding in the lift from the atrium to the fourth floor when the melodic voice in the elevator started speaking to her like an old friend. She kindly explained that she had watched Hermione's work and was pleased and the key appeared out of nowhere on a chain circling her neck. The voice told her she was to use the key to her discretion, when she thought it would help, and then went back to announcing the floors and their departments.

Malfoy had acknowledged this explanation with the utmost seriousness and she answered any questions he might have had about using it. Since then, he'd gone out several nights a week, taking along an invisibility cloak, and used the two items to sneak inside the Ministry and search through the files in the record room. Sometimes he brought a few back with him and she would help him sort through the long drawn-out reports of the war and the fallout from it.

Maybe she'd been too hasty in consenting after hearing him plead his case, but Hermione was nothing if not idealistic and sometimes too generous for her own good. Malfoy's story of justified anger over being blamed for someone else's acts had touched that spot in her heart reserved for anyone who had been oppressed or tyrannized.

A dangerous game to think of Malfoy as anything but a bastard, _she reminded herself as a light drizzle of rain started falling from the gray clouds._ He doesn't think of you as anything but a Mudblood.

_Even thinking the word made her cringe, but the ache in the pit of her stomach betrayed her. Malfoy was no longer the two-dimensional villain to her as she had viewed him at Hogwarts, he was more real to her than ever. Hauntingly, agonizingly real with empty eyes that peered out of a deceptively angelic face. _

He never said anything to her that wasn't necessary, words seeming to be a burden to him now and the silent moments dragged between them like an eternity, and he never glanced at her for more than a minute. If she tried to offer him reassurance, he would gaze at her blankly, as if she was speaking a different language. Once she had tried to pat his shoulder and he'd jerked away so abruptly she began to wonder if her touch had burned him.

Hermione would be lying if she said this treatment didn't hurt her, but she would never admit it, even to herself. Malfoy only saw her as a means to an end and after he cleared his name and let her go, he would never be in her proximity again.

Her thoughts came to a swift end when the door to the library banged shut. Malfoy stood just inside the room, his cloak soaked through with eyes focused on her, and his sudden appearance filled the room with a discerning tension. There was something different about him, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. For one thing, she thought when he'd gone out tonight that he was going back to the Ministry but she could clearly see now the cloak he wore was a regular wool one and he held nothing in the clenched fists by his sides. Besides, it was too early for him to have returned from the Ministry.

His gray eyes were hazy as they studied her features before drifting down her body. Hermione felt herself shiver at the implications in that single look, perspiration beaded on her forehead as prickles erupted on her skin, and for a moment, all her Gryffindor courage left her. When it came rushing back to her, she decided to take the developing situation in hand.

"Are you okay, Malfoy? You don't look so good," she asked, peppering her voice with a genuine concern she felt in regards to him. Something had vastly upset him.

The glint in his eyes darkened at being treated with so much familiarity by her, and she was reminded of the storm outside before she was grabbed up from her seat on the library couch and thrown bodily into the wall, the bones in her back reeling from the impact. Her fight-or-flight instinct reared up and screamed for her to run, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide that he wouldn't find her and it would only make the circumstances worse. Hermione desperately didn't want to anger him any further.

"Mal-," she tried to reason with him before he wrapped his hand tight around her throat and held her up against the wall, letting her breathe but not speak.

The blond leaned forward and exhaled in her face. Hermione could smell the alcohol on his breath and now that he was so close she could smell it soaked into his clothes as well. The sheer amount of the scent radiating from him made her want to gag. This was not good.

"Mudblood whore. Why couldn't you have just laid down and died like you were supposed to? Because of you, your people, your fucking beliefs, my mother is dead," he spoke through gritted teeth.

A wire clicked in Hermione's brain. Yes, of course, it was the anniversary of his mother's death, November seventeenth. Death Eaters had been meeting at Malfoy Manor since it was not occupied by anyone but Narcissa. Still thinking only of the best interests of her son even after he'd gone into hiding, she'd tipped the Aurors off and then had been killed in the crossfire of the ambush. No wonder he was so angry.

_Hermione tried to pry his grip off her rapidly bruising throat. "Malfoy, I'm sorry about your mother," she gasped as she twisted in his hold._

_That only seemed to fuel his anger. "You're sorry? You're SORRY? You're not sorry she's dead, you probably threw a party when you heard. 'Another Malfoy we won't have to worry about.' No, you weren't SORRY. I'll make you **sorry**."_

_"No, Draco, please," she tried, hoping the use of his first name would make him come to his senses, but she realized something at that moment. Something that scared the hell out of her, frightened her far more than Voldemort ever had. If he did what she thought, then she wasn't going to fight. Logically, Hermione knew she should be kicking and screaming, but something deeper, an instinct maybe, was telling her that she should let him have his way, that something monumental was about to change._

_Malfoy leaned against her and crushed his lips into her own, biting her bottom one to give him access into her mouth. His tongue scraped against her own and their teeth clinked together as he seemingly tried to devour her. The evidence of his desire was swelling against her hip and it made her wary and wanton all in the same breath. The fury that had been so apparent in his every motion was starting to fade and his rigid stance began to relax._

_His hand let go of her throat and joined with his other in massaging her breasts with rough, full strokes, and his pelvis jerked into her hips without warning. The action surprising her into lifting her head back for air giving him the opportunity to explore her neck where bruises were rising on the skin. He left slow, drugging kisses down the column of skin as his hands slipped underneath her hem and found the naked globes unadorned by a bra._

_The groan that escaped from him let Hermione know that he appreciated the omission to her wardrobe, her hands gripping his shoulders when her balance wavered. Not one to waste much time getting to the point, Malfoy soon had the casual slacks she wore crumpling to the ground as he lifted her into his arms and pressed her into the wall. Her legs automatically went around his waist and her opening made contact with the front of his pants making them both tremble._

_Hermione let her hands slide down his torso until she encountered his belt. She started on the buckle as he slipped a finger inside to see if she was wet enough and when his cock was uncovered, he poised the head at her opening, dragging it across her clit in the process. Not giving her any chance to object, he plunged right in up to the hilt and found himself brushing against her cervix. She felt the air rush out of her lungs at this invasion but only opened her legs wider in encouragement and the first stroke of his cock had her tightening her legs around him as her nails bit into his shoulders._

_Each push and pull made every ridge and vein of his penis scrape the walls of her pussy, making them both moan and grind and whimper until the walls echoed with the slapping of their bodies. His brow slick with sweat, Malfoy was increasingly pumping his cock into her slit, bringing her closer and closer to a release she knew she needed. When the tension broke she could feel all her worries melt away and Malfoy soon followed with a few more strokes. Not having the strength to hold them up anymore, he collapsed to his knees and slid to the floor taking Hermione with him. She didn't have any energy left after that and was beginning to feel drowsy after expending so much effort._

_They both fell asleep within minutes, a pile of exhaustion, confusion, and disheveled clothes on the library floor._

**TBC...**

A/N: Until next time, remember, reviews are love. hugs


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: More on this one. Hope you guys enjoy the update even though I know it's probably a little confusing. And remember, _italics _ Hermione's memories.

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it.

**That Swedish Thing**

_The library floor was hard and cold beneath her when she woke up from the exhausted slumber she'd fallen into after their romp against the wall. Hermione quickly assessed the situation and was relieved when she noted that her blond companion was still out for the count. _

She couldn't believe she'd actually let him have his way with her like that. It was one thing when she let him affect her from afar, but an entirely different one when they were thrown together by force. She wasn't sorry about what had happened, not really, even though she knew she should be, but she was upset at the way it had happened.

Maybe this house was just getting to her. It was, after all, practically a relic and it was anybody's guess how long it had been in the Black family. It was beautiful though, in a gothic sort of way. It was the type of house she'd dreamed about when she was a little girl reading magical tales and ghost stories, and it was the kind she imagined herself living in one day.

Taking a deep breath and clearing her mind of such foolishness, she gently pushed his arm, removing it from where it was wrapped tightly around her waist, and slowly stood from her prone position, rearranging her clothes in some semblance of order as she did. She studied the area around her where they'd made quite a mess of books and papers, and as she glanced down at the sleeping countenance of Draco Malfoy, she wondered if he would even remember what had happened between them when he awoke.

After all, he had been heavily intoxicated the night before, and if her own experiences with alcohol were any indication, she knew memory loss was a common occurrence. Hermione didn't envy the hangover he would have when he did wake up.

Not wanting to actually think about what happened, it did change things quite a bit at the very least, so she set to tidying up the library. Gathering up the papers that had been scattered from the desk Draco used to go through the Ministry files, Hermione was surprised to find her name printed on more than one of the official forms.

It seemed he'd been checking up on her and the statements she'd given to the Ministry when they'd ask for her version of the war and every battle she'd been involved in. Rather than be offended, she was actually impressed by his thoroughness in trying to uncover the truth about who had actually framed him. She saw where he'd added his own notes about his war experience compared to hers on a notepad resting haphazardly on top of another stack of files.

Malfoy hadn't exactly forbidden her to look through the files, but he hadn't encouraged it either, and before she took a seat behind the desk, she glanced over at the blond to make sure he was still deep in the land of sleep. Satisfied that he was, she pulled the first stack of files towards her and began skimming through the loads of Ministry paperwork.

Seeing her own name had sparked her curiosity, and Hermione wanted to see who else's account of the war he'd thought would be helpful. She skipped over Harry and Ron's statements, having been there when they were given and knew they contained very little, if anything, about Malfoy, and was startled to come across Snape's statement and saw the note printed in the margin of the first page: possible inconsistency.

Malfoy thought his godfather had betrayed him?

That didn't sound like Snape at all. Hermione loathed the man, especially after his part in Dumbledore's death even though it was on the old wizard's orders, but she knew he was loyal to his favorite student and godson. If she could admit no other good qualities about the former professor, she could freely recognize this one.

Taking the papers out of Snape's file, she set the ones marked for discrepancy side-by-side across the surface of the desk and set her statement of the same events directly beneath it. Then, she started to read.

**"Let it be known to all forthwith, this statement of events, given by Severus Prince Snape, former Death Eater, former Potions Master of Hogwarts, and member of the Order of the Phoenix, was taken down on May sixteenth, in the year of Minister of Magic, Mr. Thomas A. Garner, two-thousand. This record was kept by the Wizengamot court reporter, Mrs. Jackie Beckett, and was witnessed by Mr. Stanley Mackenzie, head of Magical Law Enforcement, and Ms. Clara Defoe, captain of the Aurors. **

"We will begin from where we last left off at the battle outside Dover."

Snape: "We'd gotten word of an attack planned on Dover. It was sent through the back-channels of the Death Eaters and one of the Aurors who was assigned to spy happened to come across the encoded letter that organized the attack."

Defoe: "What was done then?"

Snape: "After the letter was decoded, we had a meeting about possible approaches to the information it contained. Lupin was wary of it being a trap since it seemed such a fortuitous chance of it nearly falling into our lap. Potter, however, was adamant about facing the enemy head-on."

Mackenzie: "What was decided?"

Snape: "We would apparate to Dover and attempt to surprise the Death Eaters who would be coming to attack the half-blood and Muggleborn families who lived in the area."

Defoe: "And did you succeed?"

Snape: "No, it seemed we miscalculated their objective. Instead of attacking the ones we thought they would, it seemed their target was an old pureblood family, the Heathcliffs, who lived outside of Dover and refused to support Voldemort. One of the families he considered to be blood-traitors."

Mackenzie: "And this was after you were expended from Voldemort's inner circle, correct?"

Snape: "Yes, and after my name had been cleared from the events surrounding Albus Dumbledore's death."

Mackenzie: "Tell us about the battle."

Snape: "When we were aware of their ultimate goal, we had to regroup and apparate to the outskirts of the community. The Death Eaters were already in position when we arrived and they began to attack from all sides, the majority out front and a small group of four or five from behind."

_Hermione's brow creased in perplexity. She didn't remember anyone coming up from behind in that particular attack. In fact, when they'd fallen back, there had been nothing but a row of small buildings behind them. She read on._

**Snape: "Lupin went down after a particularly nasty Cruciatus from Bellatrix Lestrange and Potter and his two companions had found a barrier to shield themselves with as they tried to pick off the Death Eaters one-by-one. McDougal fell beside me and by then, it was complete chaos, but as I turned to shoot a curse at Greyback, I saw Draco Malfoy appear from one of the small buildings behind us and direct a curse towards Ernie Macmillan. The boy went down and never got back up." **

Defoe: "Did you try to pursue Malfoy?"

Snape: "Yes, but when I looked back to see which direction he'd gone, there was no sign of him anywhere. Not too long after that, the battle concluded and the Order fell back to headquarters, taking our dead and injured back with us. It was there that we learned Macmillan's family had been hit earlier that day."

Mackenzie: "And is it your belief that Malfoy is responsible?"

Snape: "Yes."

_Undeterred, Hermione tried to conjure up the memories of that day in her mind. She clearly remembered the chaos of the battle and ducking behind the barrier with Harry and Ron, but later on, she'd been pulled out in the middle of the conflict when she'd went after Lestrange, and she'd been facing in the direction of the buildings Snape had mentioned. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to remember if she had seen Draco Malfoy, but there hadn't been anything in that direction. _

Maybe she should invest in a penseive.

Frustrated by her lack of progress, she collected the papers and put them back in their respective files as she thought about Snape's account. Was he lying about seeing Malfoy there? What would he have to gain by lying about Malfoy's involvement in the war? Maybe he **had** seen Malfoy, but it was actually somebody who had been impersonating him.

This was all, of course, taking the standpoint of Malfoy having told her the truth, which she actually believed he had, because in her experience, most people didn't go to this much trouble to prove their innocence when they were guilty.

There was something there, though. Something that was on the tip of her tongue that she knew would explain everything if she could just put the half-formed thought into words. Maybe glancing over the rest of the files would help. She knew she could crack this puzzle if she had all the facts.

Hermione settled into the chair cushion with the next person's account when a sudden groaning shattered the silence in the room and made her jump in her seat. She would admit she was scared of how he would react this morning, but she wouldn't let him intimidate her before he explained himself. What happened between them could make things very awkward if they didn't discuss it, and after all, she had to live with him until he decided to let her go.

Spotting her at his desk, Malfoy started shifting on the ground and slowly started to sit up before thinking better of it and staying where he was.

"Ugh, how long was I asleep?" he asked, hand over his eyes to block out the light in the room and his voice scratchy from the alcohol.

"Um," she quickly glanced at the clock on the desk and noted how long it'd been since she first sat down, "I got up at about eight and it's past eleven now."

"I feel like I was run over by a herd of dragons."

Hermione sighed. "Well, that's what happens when you have too much to drink." She placed the file she'd started back on the desk and stood. "If you get yourself situated, I'll make you a cup of tea. I haven't had anything to eat yet myself this morning."

He nodded to indicate he agreed to her proposition and gently lifted himself from the ground, working the cricks out of his body as he went, and joined her in the kitchen where she was just starting to put on the teakettle.

Noticing his eyes shifting away from her, Hermione decided to take the bull by the horns since it looked like he was in full avoidance mode this morning. She was not the type to cry and moan about it anyway; she was stronger than that, and what was done, was done.

"Are we going to talk about it?"

Malfoy's cheeks turned pink. "I'd rather we didn't."

Hermione dropped the teacups on the table with a loud clatter. "So, that's it, then? You just decide to avoid the subject and it makes it all better? It makes it all go away? Well, you can think again. We are going to talk about it and you are going to explain your-"

He cut her ranting off with three words she never thought she'd hear from him.

"Granger, I'm sorry." His eyes were solemn as he stared at her, letting her know exactly how serious he was, and his voice had the slightest tremor to it, full of remorse. "I never meant to ra-"

This time, she cut him off by placing her hand over his mouth before the word fell into the air. Her brown eyes were deadly serious as she speared him with her gaze. "That's not what happened. I let you have your way."

Their eyes stayed locked until Malfoy nodded that he understood what she was trying to convey. She wasn't blaming him and she didn't want him to wallow in guilt over it.

Her attention turned back to the kettle when it started to whistle and she went through the motions of preparing tea. Her words carried over her shoulder as continued to speak. "There's no turning back, however, we can't be enemies anymore. If you're going to keep me locked up in here, you're going to have to trust me."

Listening to her words in contemplation, Malfoy watched her as she moved about the kitchen with ease.

"First off, I really think I can help you break down all the accounts of the war. I took a look at Snape's statements this morning and I have to agree with what you wrote in your notes. There definitely seems to be some inconsistencies in his story."

Malfoy simply nodded and took a sip from the teacup she handed him.

"Secondly," she peered at him over the plate of eggs and toast she had just prepared as she set it on the table between them, "we'll have to learn to get along if we're going to work together.

"We'll be friends first."

Back in the present, Hermione felt the tears run down her cheeks and knew what she had to do.

**TBC…**

A/N: I know it might seem very confusing, but I promise it'll sort itself out. Please leave me a review if you would. :)


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: There's only two parts left after this one, so enjoy:)

Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own Harry Potter.

**That Swedish Thing**

Without pausing to question the rationality of what she was about to do, Hermione snatched up her wand, the new one she'd been given before checking out of St. Mungo's, and apparated away from her flat. She appeared a few seconds later in the entryway of the Ministry of Magic.

The atrium was buzzing with people, but Hermione ignored them when they stopped and stared at her in amazement. She noted, as she passed through the crowd, that her disappearance and sudden reappearance must have become common knowledge by now. Whispering followed her as she boarded a lift and waited for the door to close behind her; no one dared to join her as she gazed out into the sea of people with deadly intent in her eyes.

She got off on level two, the floor designated for Aurors and Magical Law Enforcement, and made a beeline for an office she knew was located on the far left side past all the cubicles, an office she knew rather well.

Hermione entered without bothering to knock and pulled her wand on the office's occupant, a man she'd been best friends with for over half her life, placing the length of wood directly under his chin once she'd crossed behind his desk.

Her voice was a dangerous whisper as she bit off every word; no sign of the breakdown she'd had earlier apparent in her demeanor. "What did you do?"

Harry's face was a stony mask that gave nothing away. The war had taught him well. "So, you've remembered." It was not a question to be answered, simply a statement of fact.

"Yes, you bastard, and I swear on the memory of Albus Dumbledore, if you don't answer my questions, I **will** kill you."

And Harry believed her. Because this wasn't his Hermione, the Hermione he and Ron had rescued from a troll in the girl's bathroom during first year, the Hermione who had helped him get through the war with Voldemort intact, he wasn't dealing with her. That Hermione was gone forever.

This was Malfoy's whore.

"I did what I had to."

* * *

_A month passed and it didn't seem like they were getting any closer to finding out who had framed Malfoy. Christmas had come and gone, but Hermione had made no mention of it to him. Any talk of family seemed to bring out his bad side and that was something she'd done a good job of avoiding since they'd called their truce after what Hermione liked to refer to as the 'incident.' _

She would be lying, however, if she said she hadn't thought about it though. Christmas was her favorite holiday and she was sorry she'd had to miss out this year. She wondered if Harry and Ron were searching for her, and she wondered if she wanted them to find her or not.

It was New Year's Eve and she was waiting for him to come back from the Ministry. He was late again and she was worried he'd been caught somehow. She wished she didn't worry about him when he left, but she couldn't help it. It was a part of who she was.

They'd formed a rapport over the last few weeks and while she didn't consider him a friend exactly, she'd grown to enjoy his company.

He was intelligent, but she'd always known that, him having trailed her marks at Hogwarts, and he was handsome, but she'd known that as well, although it was always overshadowed by his horrendous attitude towards her. Both of these traits put together when he wasn't trying to make her miserable, however, were rather disconcerting. And she'd caught herself laughing at some of his more cynical remarks when they perused what they'd started calling the 'war papers' together.

He'd been much nicer as well, even bringing her a trunk of clothes he said had once belonged to his mother. They'd been a few centimeters too long as Narcissa had been a little taller than her, but she'd been grateful for the fresh garments all the same.

They'd evaded any and all talk about the incident, but it was getting harder to ignore, especially since they were together practically every moment of the day as they searched for the key to Malfoy's innocence. It was like a pink elephant in the room that they both had to step around every time they came into contact with each other. Hermione knew Malfoy could feel the tension between them just as she did, it was a dark pull that tugged at her consciousness, and it was starting to influence both of their actions.

They were gravitating towards something.

If she didn't know any better, she would almost believe he was scared of her now that she'd taken the control out of his hands. It was no longer just a case of her being a captive. Now, even if she had the chance to escape, she wouldn't take it until she finished helping him. He'd appealed to her sense of justice and that wasn't something she could turn away from.

No, she would have to see this thing through, even if it led her down a path she feared to tread, a path that held the secret to a downfall of her own creation.

The door to the library crashed open and interrupted her musings of the last month. Malfoy ungracefully stumbled through the doorway, a large stack of files hindering his vision.

"Granger! A little help here would be appreciated."

"Sorry, Malfoy, I was unaware that I was now your butler," she remarked as she rushed over and grabbed half of the pile before it could topple over. Working together, they moved the files over to the desk and set them on top of its already covered surface.

Hermione sighed as she glanced over the increased amount of paperwork they had to search through. "Which files did you pinch this time?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Loony's, Tonks', Longbottom's, and a few of the Death Eater interviews."

"That's **Luna**, Malfoy," she said as she glared at the blond.

"Whatever." Another shrug accompanied this astute statement.

Hermione wasted no more time arguing and took a seat in the leather chair behind the desk as she pulled a file off the top. "Well, we better get started."

"Hold on."

Confused, she waited for him to explain and was surprised when instead, he pulled a small bottle from inside his robe and enlarged it to its full size.

In his hand was an '82 bottle of Chateau Petreuse.

"Where did you get that?" Amazement colored her voice.

He answered her as he worked on the cork. "A case of it was sent to my parents by our French relatives. It's been collecting dust in our cellar ever since and I stole a bottle to keep for a special occasion."

Hermione raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "And what's this special occasion? Successfully kidnapping a former enemy?"

Malfoy gazed at her with hurt eyes and she instantly felt sorry for her words. He reached for the crystal highball glasses sitting on the bar next to the desk and poured the rich red wine into them. "No, it's to celebrate the new year, a year I hope will mark my reinstated innocence."

She smiled as she accepted a glass from him and took a sip, the Bordeaux trickling down her throat and the tart flavor filling her with warmth. "What makes you so sure?"

He clinked his glass with hers and took a quick gulp before answering her question. "Well, I have you, don't I?"

Her eyes snapped to his to discern his meaning and she was shocked at the amount of depth in the gray, a wealth of emotion that both thrilled and terrified her. This was it, the moment, and she had no idea what to do.

"Malfoy -"

But he didn't let her get out another word as his lips sealed over hers and the glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor. Her mouth opened when his tongue pressed against her bottom lip and her fingers curled in his hair as she moved closer. The taste of the wine passed between them as their tongues twisted and twirled together. She felt his hands wrap around her waist before hauling her tight against him, leaving no space between their bodies.

When oxygen became an issue, they drew back and took in large gasps of air. Hermione caught his bottom lip in her teeth and sucked it deep into her mouth, drawing a heavy groan from him, his hips thrusting into her abdomen and letting her know exactly what kind of effect she was having on him. She released his lip and his forehead rested against her own, both of their eyes hazy with desire as they watched each other.

"Come to bed with me," his words were soft, as if he was afraid of destroying what was happening.

Hermione had a moment of indecision, but she knew what her answer would be and she breathed it out before drawing his head back down for another kiss, this one even deeper than the last.

"Yes."

She didn't even remember him picking her up or the trip down the corridor as they left a trail of clothes behind them on the way from the library to his bedroom, but she felt her back hit the mattress as her nails scraped down his arms, eliciting a growl of approval from him. His hand found her breast and gave the globe a firm squeeze as he nipped at her ear. Her skin was on fire when he placed his full weight on top of her and she could feel every inch of him pressed against her.

His mouth moved down to her neck, leaving wet kisses down the column of skin and his tongue scraping every sensitive spot he could find. She writhed beneath him, her hips lifting off the bed and grinding against his own, as he tweaked her nipples. Hermione grabbed one of his hands and directed it towards her slit, but he only chuckled.

His body moved even lower, sliding down hers, and he took one of her lovely tits in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the rosy bud and drawing it deep between his lips. Hermione cried out at the sensation as her fingernails bit into his shoulders, her legs wrapping themselves around him as each pull from his mouth tugged at her center. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same treatment as his hand traveled lower.

Hermione nearly shot off the bed at the first touch of his hand on her clit, the tip of his finger lightly dragging across the sensitive bud. She whimpered as he pressed more forcefully, the double stimulation making her wetter than she already was. Before her mind could fully comprehend, he released her breast from his mouth and her clit had taken its place.

His teeth gently grazed the bud as his tongue teased her. She squirmed with insatiable need until his hands stilled her by gripping her hips tightly. The tip of his tongue dipped between her sweet nether lips, lapping up the wetness he found there, and his thumb continued vigorously rubbing her clit. Two of his fingers joined his tongue and powerfully thrust against her inner walls, the nerve-endings in her body beginning to tingle as she started to climb. His fingertips scraped the inside of her center and found what he'd been looking for as he put more pressure on the sensitive spot.

Hermione felt wave after wave of release crash over her as the tension in her body broke and he plunged his cock inside of her as she howled in completion. Not giving her a moment to recover, he immediately pulled out and pushed himself back in, going even deeper than before. She once again circled her legs around his hips as their mouths met in a mesmerizing kiss.

Sweat formed on their bodies as he started to build a rhythm, her hips lifting off the bed to meet his thrusts as the headboard knocked against the wall. Her nails left scratches down his back as she tried to find something solid to hold onto, the head of his hardness bumping her cervix making her stomach clench with want. His pubic bone rubbed her clit as the pace of his strokes increased, his hands clasping the bed sheets to keep himself upright, and the sound of their hips clashing echoed off the wall bringing their fervor to dizzying heights.

They exploded together, her walls clenching around him as his seed pulsed into her womb. Their lips meeting in a drugging kiss as they shared breath, pants escaping from their lungs. Hermione coiled her fingers into his hair and brought his mouth deeper into hers, the last tremors of her orgasm dying out.

He collapsed beside her on the bed and when they fell asleep this time tangled together, she felt the difference as his arms curled around her.

**TBC…**

A/N: Yes, I know it's still confusing but some questions get answered in the next part, I promise. Also, if you go looking for '82 Chateau Petreuse, you won't find it, it's a reference to something else. And one more thing, this isn't a very happy fic, I'd like for all of you to keep that in mind, but I promise to have at least an optimistic ending. Remember, reviews are love. -hugs!-


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I'm sorry for the delay in updating. I'll just say that this hasn't been a good year so far. But I'll leave you in peace to continue the story. Remember that _italics_ are Hermione's memories. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I still don't own Harry Potter or anything related to him.

**That Swedish Thing**

The wand slipped through her fingers and bounced off the desk.

Horror dawning across her face, Hermione, tears beginning to trail down her cheeks once more, staggered away from her best friend and crashed into the wall before slowly, disbelievingly sliding down to the floor, her eyes wide and distant. Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs and her fingers trembled as she clutched at the rough carpeting, her hands needing something solid to hold onto as her world collapsed around her.

"_How could you?_" her voice, choked and tortured, barely broke the tense silence in the room, the emotion raw and abrasive.

Harry's green eyes were unforgiving and cold in the harsh fluorescent light of the office. "The Hermione I knew would have thanked me for doing what I had to do, no matter the consequences." The jade bit into her face as his words dripped bitterness, scalding her with their self-righteousness. "_Especially after she was violated by some fucking Death Eater scum._"

"**_I love him!_**" she screamed at Harry, nearly shaking the office with her conviction and regaining some of her composure.

The young Auror's eyes widened and filled with trepidation, his body finally losing the defensive stance he'd taken since she'd appeared. He hurriedly pushed back his desk chair and dropped unsteadily to his knees beside the brunette, trying to take her hands in his own but she slapped them away.

"No, Hermione, don't you see? You're just sick. You need help. You just have that Swedish thing," he pleaded, his voice stuttering and unsure, his green eyes earnest.

"There's _nothing_ wrong with me," she replied with absolute finality, steel in her tone as she stood from her spot on the floor and recovered her wand with quick reflexes. The former Head Girl had the length of wood back under his chin before he could blink. His own wand was resting in its place on his desk.

"You're slipping, Harry," she said mockingly, her earlier tears beginning to dry.

The young man gazed back at her, dismay drawing upon his features, and his voice was whisper soft. "What has he done to you?"

"He taught me how to survive," she answered, digging the wand into his skin with deadly accuracy, "and he told me the truth." Her remark tolerated no arguments.

"Truth? The truth about what?" Harry asked confusedly.

"About how many times you've lied to me," she gritted her teeth as the words slipped out, brown eyes devoid of any warmth. "You couldn't even tell me the truth about my disappearance. There was no Antonin Dolohov. I had to wait for a trigger after you had my memory wiped clean. How did you manage everything, Harry?"

He stared unrelentingly into her eyes, green clashing with brown and neither giving in. "I won't apologize for anything." Harry watched her with new awareness, like an enemy to be defeated on a battlefield.

"No, of course not, then you wouldn't be the _fucking_ savior of the _fucking_ world, now would you? And it's cost me **_everything!_**" she shrieked hysterically before getting hold of her rampaging emotions. The tip of her wand pressed deeper, her grip strong. "I know about Narcissa."

Harry's gaze was decisive, his body still. "That was an accident and I was cleared," his voice was certain, never wavering.

"See, I don't think it was," Hermione rejoined. "I think you wanted to make that whole family pay for Sirius' death." Harry flinched at the mention of his late godfather. "I think you wanted to take out every last Black and Malfoy so there would be nothing left of any of them. When Lucius died in prison and Narcissa called in the tip, you thought, 'this is the perfect opportunity, I'll kill her in the middle of the melee and no one will be the wiser'."

"That's not what happened," he declared, his tone rising the slightest bit.

"I saw the scar, Harry."

This simple statement seemed to silence him and his eyes burned with emerald flames, their depths reflecting no sympathy, not even the slightest hint of remorse at his actions. She was suddenly thrown back to the war.

_No matter the consequences._

"You didn't even tell me you had gone on that raid, as well as nearly a half dozen others, ones that killed far more Death Eaters than they captured," her words were heated, the betrayal still fresh in her mind.

Harry said nothing in his defense.

"I read every report, all the ones you tried to keep from me, and I know exactly how much blood is on your hands." Hermione took a deep breath, the fury washing over her in waves. "I'll only ask you once," she spoke, her voice firm.

"Where is Draco?"

* * *

_Hermione was worried. _

It was the second of January and the clock had just struck three in the morning.

Draco had woken her briefly the morning after their romp between the sheets and told her he had to go out. When she had asked where, he had only smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, telling her to go back to sleep, that he would be back before she knew it.

She'd done as he'd asked and had been walking on eggshells the rest of the day when she'd woken up and he still hadn't returned. Night had fallen and her anxiety had only increased.

Something was wrong; she could feel it.

It was a miraculous thing really, how much she'd come to care about him in so short amount of time, but she had. It'd been so subtle, creeping over her in the last couple of months, like the tide slowly pushing in and waiting to make its presence known, but she could deny it no longer. No matter how many times she tried to recall the hate she had once felt in regards to him, it wasn't there.

It'd been replaced by something else.

And it hadn't happened overnight. They had been stuck in this house together for more than two months and it was hard to hate someone when they were your only company from day to day. The first month might have been filled with awkwardness and hostility, but she always kept in mind that he'd asked for her help, he'd reached out to her. She had sympathized with him.

After the first incident between them, it was even harder to feel that animosity and when she grasped inside herself for it, to be angry and hurt, it had barely been a spark, sputtering its last flicker, especially when he'd gazed at her, contrite and supplicant. Forgiveness was the only thing she could allow herself to bestow.

Then the month of friendliness and glances and almost-touches, and she fell back into bed with him and nary a single thought about the consequences. The night before, she had cleansed, submerged, drowned herself in him, in his eyes and in his hands and in his body. Broken down and had been made whole again.

She was in love with him.

This, she realized, and it both enlivened and alarmed her. He made her feel things she hadn't felt since her Hogwarts days, since before the war, before the death and the destruction and the pain.

Three simple words and yet it complicated everything, it made the outside world that much more unbearable. It made her never want to return to her previous life and that sole thought petrified her.

How could she ever be the same again?

Hermione huddled deeper into her armchair by the fire, the flames battling the chill settling into the dark library, and looked at the clock on the desk once more. It was nearing four in the morning and the house was still as her eyelids grew heavy.

When the clock chimed five, the door to the library banged open, disturbing the uneasy slumber she'd slipped into and she was out of the chair and across the room before she could even think about it.

Throwing her arms around his neck, Hermione buried her face in his chest, her words coming out muffled. "Where were you? I was worried."

Draco wrapped his hands around her waist and untangled her from his person, and he started pulling her in the direction of her room. "Come on, get dressed."

Hermione gazed back at him blankly. "What? Why?"

"Just do it, alright?" he replied testily, his gloved hand swinging the door open.

She dressed quickly and fastened a thick cloak over her shoulders before rejoining him. He pulled her close, his arms circling her body, and withdrew his wand from his pocket. The air around them crackled with intensity as they disappeared, the sound of apparation the only thing left behind in the corridor.

They reappeared on a hill covered in snow, the countryside very familiar to Hermione and she turned to face him, her brown eyes dancing with questions.

He looked away from her inquiring expression, the gray trying to find something to focus on in the dim light of early morning, and gave her a little shove forward.

"Hogsmeade is just over that next hill. I'm sure you'll be able to find a free fireplace to Floo from."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and studied him in all serious. "You're letting me go?"

Draco ducked his head, his features giving nothing away. "Yes."

She was stunned and afraid. She was torn, but she knew, she wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm staying."

The gray widened, perfect circles of disbelief, but he didn't question her reasons, he could see the stubbornness in her stance, in the tilt of her head, in the line of her lips. This was what he'd wanted.

"Okay." And they apparated back to the house which was both her prison and her home.

A week passed, a week spent continuously searching for the illusive key to his freedom, and she'd taken up residence in his room until nothing of hers was left in the blue room, the one she'd occupied since the night he'd first abducted her from the corridor outside her flat.

It felt like worlds away to her.

Hermione woke one morning to find him picking through his wardrobe, trying to find a shirt for the day, and his back faced her. She couldn't prevent the gasp that escaped from her lips as she took in the sight, trying to recall how she had missed it in all their time together and failing.

There on his back, running the entire length of his spine from his neck and disappearing under the waistband of his trousers, was a dark pink scar nearly an inch wide. It looked excruciatingly painful.

Draco, startled by her gasp, turned from his perusal to see what she was doing. When he noticed the direction of her gaze, his eyes grew stormy, thunderclouds were on the horizon.

"Oh, that," he commented indifferently, "that's a souvenir from your precious Potter. I should be paralyzed, you know, but Blaise got to me in time. He regenerated my nerves."

Hermione's brown eyes connected with his as her stomach fell to her knees. "What are you talking about? Harry wouldn't do that."

The blond grimly chuckled. "Of course not. He's only hated me for over a decade and would gladly dance on my grave. It wasn't like we weren't on opposite sides of the war or anything," he remarked cynically.

Hermione wrapped the sheet around her and stood, her chin trembling despite herself. "You weren't on opposite sides of the war. You were framed."

"It doesn't matter," he ran his hand frustratingly through his hair, the long strands falling back across his face. "All Potter sees is this." He held his arm out so she could fully take it in.

The Dark Mark was seared into his forearm.

"No," she whispered, backing away from him, her eyes filling with tears. "It still doesn't make sense. You didn't kill anybody," her voice pleaded, begging for the truth.

Draco grabbed her before she could move too far away and jerked her head back, his eyes boring into her face, studying every nuance of her expression, and she could feel his presence poking through her mind, questioning her knowledge. His grip tightened on her arms as realization washed over him, blanketing him in astonishment.

"You don't know. How can you not know?" he asked her amazedly.

Before she could fully comprehend, the blond took hold of her hand and pulled her hastily from the room and down the corridor to the library. He didn't let go of her as he snatched up one of the files off the desk, nearly dislodging one of the stacks, and thrust it into her chest, her other arm coming up to catch it before the papers inside could slip out.

"It's time for a lesson in reality."

Then, Draco told her truths, horrible truths she didn't want to hear, but truths nevertheless. And it was all there, inside Harry's folder, his account of the war, the one she had skipped over because she mistakenly had assumed she knew what was inside, and she learned everything Harry had kept from her during those three years.

Hermione could see his green eyes in her mind, the ones that had always sparkled with sincerity, and she knew why he had done it, why he had kept so much from her. He'd wanted to protect her from the stark ugliness of war, but she'd been touched, damaged, destroyed by it no matter how hard he'd wanted otherwise.

It had been inevitable.

The letters on the papers did far more to convince her than just Draco's word, but it was there for her to see in black and white. The red bled through as she read the entire file from front to back.

His account of the assault on Malfoy Manor, how he'd accidentally hit Narcissa Malfoy in the skirmish with a Killing Curse, how he'd caught up with Draco Malfoy after the battle in Bristow and he tried to extract Voldemort's location out of him by use of a Severing Charm, how he'd killed Pansy Parkinson and Vincent Crabbe during the attack on Hogsmeade instead of trying to capture them, how he'd crippled Gregory Goyle's younger sister, a fifteen-year-old girl not involved in the war, in the sneak attack on Goyle Park. So many things she hadn't known, hadn't even suspected, all given in a single interview that neither Ron nor Hermione had been present for. And he'd been cleared of it all, some being deemed mistakes, mishaps in the heat of battle, and others written off as collateral damage.

"Did you really think Saint Potter wouldn't do everything possible to win the war? To close in on the Dark Lord and take out his forces? No matter the consequences?" Draco lowly murmured against her ear.

She felt her face burn with indignation and resolve settle in her mind. Her heart was shattered as she saw her beliefs go up in flames before her eyes, the very things that made her Hermione Granger. It wasn't about his actions during the war, even though they were questionable at the very least, it was that he had lied to her and had been continuously lying to her ever since.

A very fundamental part of her shifted at that moment and she could feel it deep in her consciousness as she reached up and grabbed fistfuls of Draco's hair, dragging his lips down to clash with her own. He answered by lifting her into his arms, the sheet falling forgotten to the floor, and taking her against the wall, just like the first time they had come together.

She could only fall deeper under his spell, the water closing in around her head, her loyalty no longer in question, and her mind poisoned with the truth.

A month more passed, it was now mid-February, and they were getting closer to the answer they sought. It was a month spent with touches and tenderness, fighting and fucking, and more words. Hermione was no longer aware of the outside world, having been isolated from it for nearly four months now, and couldn't see the danger lurking in her actions, in her thoughts, in her principles. She lived and breathed Draco.

But more than that, she knew, without really knowing, that things were about to change. The winds passed over her, blowing away any remaining indecisions and scattering the leftover pieces of her former life. Turnabout was in full play and she knew there was no going back.

She was pregnant.

**TBC...**

A/N: Only one part left to go. I hope to have it up fairly soon. And as always, reviews are love. :)


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: This is The End, folks, hope you enjoy it and I'm sorry it took so long.

Disclaimer: Still don't own it.

**That Swedish Thing**

_Hermione felt like she was walking to the gallows._

_Telling Draco Malfoy he was going to be a father had never factored into her future plans. For one thing, she had never before even considered mentioning her love to him since she assumed he was still planning on letting her go after they proved his innocence._

_Adding a baby into the equation changed things exponentially._

_But her math couldn't be wrong. She hadn't had her cycle in over two months, and she wasn't exactly sure which time had done the deed. She had already scolded herself for not being more careful but being in this place, with him and away from the rest of the world, had made her forget herself._

_The corridors of the forsaken home echoed with her footfalls as she went searching for him, and she found him where he always was these days: sitting behind the desk in the library sifting through the piles of paperwork stacked there on the surface._

_Hermione entered the room silently, but his attention was directed elsewhere. He finally glanced up when the door clicked loudly behind her, and the focus he'd previously given the files in his hand shifted to her once he noted her grave expression._

"_What's wrong?" he asked without preamble, knowing her well enough to tell when something was troubling her._

_Hermione ran a hand through her tangled curls and harshly expelled a breath as she collapsed in the chair across the desk from him. Having seen the genuine concern in his gray eyes had taken all the strength out of her and it suddenly hit her how very real this was._

_They were taunting fate already, especially since she hadn't left him when he'd given her the opportunity._

"_I have something important to tell you," she said, her words coming out in a rush before she could lose her nerve, "something that could change our entire future, and I'm not sure how you'll react. I don't even really know what I -"_

"_Hermione," he interrupted her rambling smoothly, "just tell me."_

_She lifted her eyes up from her clenched hands in her lap and met those pools of gray head-on. "I'm pregnant."_

_For a moment, neither one of them breathed as the words settled into the air and became tangible. It was the first time Hermione had said the words aloud, even to herself._

_Draco's face lost all color until she was sure he was going to faint, but he grasped the edge of the desk with his hands, his knuckles turning stark white, and pulled himself to his feet with great effort._

_Hermione made no sudden movements to distract him from processing this startling news, but she could feel a part of her teetering on an edge._

_Almost faster than she could blink, he was standing over her, his eyes bright with intent, and she could feel him poking into her consciousness once more, his mind desperately seeking answers. She relaxed, trusting him to not invade her boundaries, and felt him withdraw almost immediately after._

_He smiled then, a smile that was half-hungry and half-satisfaction and one she didn't understand in the least, before turning on his heel and exiting out the door, the sound of apparation soon following._

_Hermione felt something inside her shatter as tears started slipping down her cheeks and she crumpled to the library floor, his silence and his departure cutting her to the bone._

_She stayed down there for more than an hour, her hands wrapped tightly around her middle, and felt herself beginning to slip off to sleep as her tears dried on her cheeks._

_It was how Draco found her when he returned, her head shaking in restless slumber. He knelt and gently woke her, but when brown eyes rested on him, the body on the floor jerked away from him as quickly as it could possibly move._

"_What are you doing?" he asked confusedly, his hand patting his coat pocket as one eyebrow lifted in question._

_Hermione studied him warily from across the room, not unlike the very first night he had brought her here, and was unsure what to conclude from his expression. "I thought you wanted nothing more to do with me."_

_Widened eyes met her statement and she was thrown into uncertainty, which only increased with his next actions._

_He crossed the room until they were nearly touching and descended to one knee, his hand drawing out a small square box neatly wrapped in brown paper and embellished with a red bow._

_Hermione covered her mouth to stifle the gasp trying to escape, but it was apparent by the soft smile on his face that she'd been unsuccessful. Her hand reached out and took the package from him and gently removed it from its wrapping._

_A princess-cut diamond solitaire was revealed to her eyes and she smiled down at him from where she stood, happy tears beginning to dampen the brown._

"_I know it's not much," he started to explain, "but the Malfoy jewels are still in Ministry custody."_

_She pulled the ring from the box and handed it to him, watching in awe as he slipped it onto her finger. "It's perfect," she stated decisively._

_Draco rose from the floor and gathered her in his arms, dropping a sweet kiss on her brow. "So, you'll marry me?"_

"_Yes."_

_His hand gripped the back of her head firmly, his fingers tangled tightly in her curls as she pressed her cheek to his shoulder._

"_No matter the consequences?" he asked guardedly and she had the funny feeling that he was testing her, but her answer was sure._

"_No matter the consequences."_

_They had no way of knowing it would be less than a month before they were torn apart by people who wanted to keep them separate forever.

* * *

_

"I don't know where Malfoy is," Harry answered.

Hermione felt rage tremble through her body as she tried to keep her wand hand steady. "You're lying," she retorted, her fury a deadly undercurrent in her voice.

His green eyes hardened as they narrowed with hatred. "We brought him here in custody, but he slipped away before we could get him locked up where he belongs."

Hermione pressed the wand point harder into his neck as she prepared to execute a particularly painful curse when the answer came to her.

The key.

Draco still had her Ministry key, which meant Harry was telling the truth.

Hermione surveyed her former friend with a loathing she normally reserved for people like Voldemort. She gnashed her teeth together and felt her anger still bubbling under the surface. "I should still kill you, just like you did to my child."

Harry gazed back at her coldly. "I did what I thought was right. All of it."

Hermione felt like laughing and crying over that response, but she was still too angry to do either. "That's always been your own special sin, hasn't it, Harry? 'The path to hell is paved with good intentions.'"

Then, the self-righteous savior of the wizarding world pierced her with his green eyes, his seriousness palpable. "He raped you."

"No, Harry," she countered, "I let him. Even the first time, I let him."

The young Auror was speechless at that, and Hermione used the moment to make her way to the door, an inner strength she didn't know she possessed keeping her going. Before she fully exited the office, she stopped and spoke her parting words over her shoulder.

"Don't look for me. If I ever see you again, I'll kill you."

Then, she disappeared, and Harry had no doubt she was telling the truth.

* * *

Over ten years later, Harry entered his office every day and faced the evidence of his guilt.

After that day when she walked out without looking back, he hadn't seen her in the flesh since because he was certain she would keep her word, but he kept a memory book filled with clippings and such of every time she was mentioned somewhere.

Less than six months after her memories resurfaced, the first article appeared. It was an announcement in the Daily Prophet that Ms. Hermione Granger had become Mrs. Draco Malfoy and was already expecting their first child.

Harry was the only one who knew besides the doctor he'd employed that it'd actually been their second child since he'd kept most of the details from Ron, even now.

So, he'd been one of many in the wizarding world who watched as they grew closer and more in love, year by year, as a nearly perpetual fixture in the society pages.

Just two weeks ago, he'd cut out a new clipping stating the arrival of their fifth child. Harry felt like she was constantly trying to replace the first one, even if she didn't know it.

It had become an obsession for him over the years. He started his morning every day with the ritual.

Harry would get up in the morning, eat his breakfast, get ready for the day, and then head over to his office. Normally, he got there hours before anybody else, but there were the occasional occurrences where he would bump into somebody who'd been working extra late.

He'd empty out his inbox, and whatever work that needed to be done for the day would be set aside as he set the five publications he subscribed to on his desk and went through them word-by-word, page-by-page.

Some days he would find a large article, or maybe even multiple ones, on the latest happenings of the ever-growing Malfoy clan, and some days there would be nothing at all.

On those days, when there was nothing at all, his eyes would drift to the picture sitting on the corner of his desk. It had been taken during a party after Voldemort's defeat and the two of them were laughing, Harry's arm was thrown over her shoulder, and they looked happy. On those days, he would let all the memories wash over him.

He would remember that the sob story Malfoy had used to ensnare Hermione initially had been false.

It had been quite apparent early on that Snape's story wasn't consistent with the others, and they soon discovered Bellatrix Lestrange, who they thought had died in the war, had assumed Snape's identity through use of Polyjuice Potion and had been keeping him captive in his own basement. Maybe their mistake had been keeping the whole affair quiet in returning Snape to his actual self so as not to stir up any more excitement about the war after it was over.

Malfoy had been acquitted then, after Lestrange confessed all under Veritaserum, but no one had seen him since the war until Hermione had gone missing.

Harry would remember the look in Hermione's eyes when he promised her everything was going to be okay the day they went into the Final Battle. She'd been scared but trying her damnedest not to show it, and Harry had promised himself to tell her everything if he lived. But he'd just kept trying to protect her from the harsh reality of war, even though she'd lived through it.

He would remember Malfoy waltzing into his office while he and Ron were pouring over maps and trying to figure out where Hermione had disappeared to, and had offered to tell them exactly where she was. Harry now knew that Malfoy had felt it was the perfect time to test her loyalties by throwing her back together with her friends, but he sometimes wondered how Malfoy had recalled her memories and how they'd found each other once more after they'd had her memory wiped.

But, most of all, Harry remembered one memory in particular.

It was the night of the raid on Malfoy Manor. The sky had been so clear, it'd been like black glass with a thousand diamonds embedded in its surface.

He'd been standing in the garden, bodies from the battle scattered around his feet, but he'd only had eyes for the gray-eyed boy standing ten feet away, his form shaking with white-hot wrath, the body of Narcissa Malfoy resting in the great gulf between them.

Harry turned his face away from Hermione's smiling eyes in the picture on his desk and listened as the Malfoy in his head repeated the same words again that he'd said that night before apparating away.

_I'll find out what you love the most, what you can't live without, and I'll make it mine._

_No matter the consequences._

**Fin**

A/N: That's all she wrote, kids! I hoped you enjoyed this story as much as I did writing it. I let my more devious Draco out to play and he told me his intentions. Please leave me a review if you would. They are all enjoyed and appreciated equally. 'Til next time.


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